Love

Love is the colour you see in black and white,

The stench you remember from a long forgotten photograph,

The cheeky notes in a song you used to listen through the broken cassette player,

and as you forget everything from that moment,

You felt the tenderness of the sun,
Striking on the skin you've forgotten you had.

Love is an angry protection,

The bitter aftertaste from doing what you should instead of what you want.

It is the honest look from that child with the little voice,
 begging you to stay,

with his little hug wrapping around your thigh,

telling you they'd miss you without knowing to speak,
without knowing what it means to miss.

Love is the bread on the table,

The grapes in the fridge,
The singer in the shower,
The smell of fresh laundry,
And the comfort that came unrequested,
Unexpected,

It is the taste beyond words,

Permanent for 12 years,

And goes when they leave.

Love is what you build without purpose,

It is not without fire,

Scarring you where you cant see,

Tingles and burns in quiet nights,

And sleeping well in hustling days,

It exists in ways you wish will never end.